Eleventh-hour
by EmitTime
Summary: "To put it simply, Austria was miserable, and on strike. It was a personal, pitiful cry of outrage, but a strike all the same." - WWII fic. During his period of annexation to Germany, Austria struggles with his past and present choices. Prussia helps. Sort of.


**.x.x.x.**

**Title: Eleventh-hour**

**Summary: "To put it simply, Austria was miserable, and on strike. It was a personal, pitiful cry of outrage, but a strike all the same." - ****WWII fic. During his period of annexation to Germany, Austria struggles with his past and present choices. Prussia helps. Sort of.**

**Word Count: 5,075**

**Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Historical**

**Main Characters/Pairings: Austria (Roderich Edelstein), Prussia (Gilbert Beilschmidt), Germany (Ludwig Beilschmidt). No pairings, although you may use your imagination.**

**Warnings: WWII timeline, but nothing graphic. Mentions of alcohol, smoking, and stress responses. Also, apologies to any Germany fans out there. I really do like him as character, but times were times.**

**Additional notes: The interactions between the Germanic countries fascinate me. This is my first try at a historical fic. I hope it doesn't offend anyone. I spared many, many details for that reason. Title taken from the expression "eleventh hour", which means "in the nick of time; last minute; the last possible moment.".**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers. Those rights belong to Hidekaz Himaruya!**

**A special thanks to a friend who gave me the excuse I needed to cough this up, even though she isn't a fan of the show. Thank you!**

**.x.x.x.**

* * *

Austria woke without need for any alarm. His eyes simply sprang open, the lingering visions of destruction and turmoil burning within his retinas. He lay flat on his back, bringing a hand up to lay across his forehead as hot tears cascaded down his cheeks, leaving faint trails behind. His other hand gripped the sheets as he sat up and took a quiet, shuddering breath, closing his eyes in an attempt to quell the tears. It didn't work, but that was of no concern to him.

This was Germany's place, in 1941. Many people were crying in secret.

Roderich convinced himself to rise out of bed and prepare for the day, eager to leave his dreams behind. A dizzying sensation of vertigo swept over him as he stood up, causing him to sway slightly and brace his hand against the wall. He hadn't been eating or drinking much as of late, and what sleep he achieved was just like the slumber he'd awoken from - riddled with nightmares of the past and present anxieties. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a meal, but it had been a few days at least. He cooked for Ludwig and Gilbert sometimes, and lately he'd been lying by saying he'd already eaten in order to avoid their questions. Roderich knew this wasn't going to do him any good. The two brothers were among the small amount of people which were still around him. Elizabeta and Feliciano he hardly saw anymore, and Vash...he didn't want to think about Vash.

This behavior was very uncharacteristic for him. Usually, Roderich would at least crave cake or chocolates when stressed. But this time was different. Austria didn't feel it was right for himself to eat or drink when so many of his people were being starved, beaten, persecuted, or removed from their homes to be thrown into the midst of war or sent to horrific places no human being should ever have to see. None of them deserved it - not his people, nor any other.

Eating and drinking weren't the only things which Austria hadn't been doing, however. Oh, no, the very last straw had been the restrictions on music. Music, his muse, his comfort, his very soul and passion! The bare idea of it now had been convoluted, simply another means of control and punishment. There could be no jazz, nor waltz, or dance of any kind. There could be only German music. Roderich had always enjoyed playing Bach and Beethoven, Brahms and Strauss as well, but he longed for the freedom to play what he desired. He pined for Mozart, he missed Debussy and Liszt, even Tchaikovsky. Oh, what he would give to pour his heart out through Chopin... He hadn't played Chopin since he'd found out what they were doing to Poland. Now the choice was no longer his. True music was just as persecuted as his people, and some of the tears Austria cried were for that. He knew he would never forget those notes he had learned, those songs he had played as if he were desperate to map out paradise upon black and ivory keys. But he feared that he was losing something, some part of himself. He was losing his desire to play music, and in some way, his desire for life. If he could only have music truly back, perhaps he could regain all the rest.

To put it simply, Austria was miserable, and on strike. It was a personal, pitiful cry of outrage, but a strike all the same.

Moving slowly, he hummed a ballroom tune as loudly as he dared while he went about making himself presentable. A glance in the washroom mirror - for a glance was all he cared to see of himself these days - showed him a sickly, pale face and puffy eyes. He wet a rag and tried in vain to wash the sleep and ruefulness away, combing his hair into its usual slightly wavy style. It seemed to fall flatter than usual. Even that one curl which always rose out of place was presently drooping down.

"Gott..." He murmured to himself, tearing his gaze away in disappointment. "How could I have been so foolish? Is it possible, I wonder..." He crossed to the nightstand and slipped his glasses on. "Is it possible to make the same mistake twice in one century? Forsaking peace for glory..." He looked over at his military uniform and sneered. He did not care to wear the Iron Cross today. Instead, he opted for black slacks and the long, deep blue coat he'd worn for years. It was familiar, and safe. Moreover, it was a part of himself, not Germany.

"How much are we going to lose this time?" He whispered faintly to the empty air, for he _was_ convinced that the Axis were going to lose, just as he had lost in the Great War. But this was far worse. It was a disgrace, and this stranger that looked like Germany...he was frightening. Austria was regretting his decision to join him.

His nimble fingers buttoned the coat with practiced ease. It felt slightly larger today, but he was already feeling more confident in it. He opened a dresser drawer and took out a neatly folded white cravat. He needed no mirror to tie it properly, years of the same motions allowing them to become second nature. He was just pulling his boots on when the door to his bedroom - which featured no lock, as he'd noticed during his first night here - was pushed open.

"Still getting ready? Gott, Specs, you're worse than a woman."

"There was no reason for me to be ready any sooner." Too tired to respond to the taunt, Roderich glanced at the time on his Swiss-made watch as he slipped it on. Nine o'clock in the morning was an acceptable time, surely. It was, however, still far too early to deal with Prussia. "If all you came for was to rouse me, you may leave." He stated as he stood to his full height, hoping that all evidence of his tears had disappeared.

"That's not all. Ludwig left early this morning. I thought you should know it's just me and you today." The albino man was grinning, an expression that didn't reach his cherry-red eyes. He still looked formidable as he leaned in the doorway, one arm above his head, practically leering with agile grace. He seemed as he always did in his Prussian-blue uniform - in control of himself, answering to no man. But he and Austria both did answer to Germany now, didn't they?

"Mm." Roderich's response could have been an acknowledgment or a sound of displeasure, or both. "He's gone a great amount of the time now."

Gilbert barked out a harsh laugh. "Well, in case you had forgotten, this is war."

"I have not forgotten any wars, you fool!" The harsh glare Austria turned on him would have caused a lesser man to wilt, but Prussia was used to these responses. In fact, they knew better than anyone how to wind one another up. It was almost like dueling, or playing a fine instrument.

Even as Roderich's eyes scathingly regarded him, he was remembering how he had fought against this man before. Those hands had mapped him out, scarred him and stolen pieces of him throughout their rich history. Those legs had kicked him down until his bloodied cheek was pressed into the hard dirt of the ground below. Those arms had matched him parry for parry and blow for blow during countless battles. Those conspicuous red eyes had seen him fall, and had most assuredly carried a glint of satisfaction within their depths while doing so. And the sad part was that those were the good old days, compared to now.

Prussia had always been there, as an antagonist; an annoyance, an enemy, someone he strongly despised. But Prussia was not the enemy this time. He was...Prussia. To Austria, it was stranger than silence to be here with him, under the same roof. Yet it was a comfort in some twisted way, for he could deal with Prussia. He'd had centuries of practice.

"Ah, of course, you couldn't forget." The silver-haired man's grating voice brought him back to the present. "At least, I hope you haven't forgotten being bested by my awesomeness. It did happen a lot." Gilbert was only baiting him now, poking for another heated response. He must have been feeling either bored or particularly vindictive today, Roderich reasoned. And since his grin was half-hearted and not full of malicious intent, he concluded it must be the former case.

The bespectacled man sighed and brushed past his housemate, ignoring the way he suddenly felt too overheated in his coat and cravat. "If that's the way you'd like to put it, fine."

A hand reached out to grab his shoulder. "You look terrible, Little Master." Prussia commented, the old nickname accompanied by a renewed gleam in his eyes.

"No matter." Austria retorted, brushing him away. "It's as you say - this is war." Although Germany was making good so far on his promise to keep him from the worst of it, Austria was not blind to what was happening in the outside world. He may not be on the front lines, but he felt his people - felt their fears, their doubts, and their anger. He felt their loss and desperation, and could do nothing about it. For all intents and purposes, he was only another part of Germany now - only another useless asset in a losing battle.

"I don't expect any better than this." He admitted quietly. Prussia said nothing, so he took his cue to walk away. He would spend the rest of the day in the library, parlor, or back in his bedroom - anywhere which Gilbert wasn't.

* * *

That afternoon, Roderich broke his strike for a cup of tea. They had only tea left, as all the coffee had been used up, mostly by himself. For a moment, he'd considered resorting to a cigarette. Tea was better, however. It allowed him to refrain from stooping that low.

Some people, however, had no such self-control. Austria shut his eyes and took a slow breath as Prussia dropped down next to him on the sofa. He got a whiff of nicotine for his troubles, and turned his head to see his housemate nursing a beer in one hand and holding a cigarette with the other.

"Ludwig will be upset when he finds out you're smoking inside."

"_Bruder_ isn't here." Gilbert returned easily, blowing out a ring of smoke. "And you don't mind, do ya, Specs?" He grinned at Roderich, who shook his head slightly.

"It doesn't matter. It isn't as though either of us will die from it, and I don't have much choice but to put up with you, now do I?"

"Is that what you think? You always have a choice." Prussia took a long swig of beer. "But I wouldn't expect a coward like you to admit that."

"Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"Would you give me one?"

"No..." Clenching the handle of his teacup, Roderich lowered his eyes. His burst of anger at the other man was short-lived as another matter weighed at the forefront of his mind.

There was silence in the parlor for a few minutes, broken only by the faint clink of china and the audible inhales and exhales of the albino man.

"Do you think I had a choice, when your brother came to me?" Austria asked at last, his voice devoid of any harshness or sarcasm. It was the tone of a man desperate for an answer aside from the one his own mind had already given him. "Do you think I had a choice then, when Germany asked me to join him?"

"Weren't you listening?" Prussia lifted his arm and tapped the other nation on the head with his beer bottle. "You always have a choice. It was pretty clear that time, too."

"Was it..." Austria murmured. If he had known it would be like this - so much he could have done differently...

"He would have crushed you, though." It was rare to hear Gilbert's voice so low, full of some underlying emotion that Roderich, in his muddled state, could not deign to place. "As weak as you were - he would have crushed you, if you'd said no."

Roderich set his teacup down on the coffee table. It was mostly untouched. "Perhaps I should have been crushed, then. Perhaps if anyone was going to be the first, it should have been me! Perhaps...that would be better than becoming this..." He spat out.

Appearing wholly unconcerned with what he'd stirred up, Gilbert flicked ashes onto the tray resting on his knee. "Going to rebel then, Little Master?"

Roderich thought of Hungary and Italy, who had warned him not to agree to Anschluss. He thought of Switzerland, who would not and could not speak to him, but was out there somewhere - may his neutrality protect him. He thought of Poland, who'd gone first, though he was the last to deserve it. France, who had already fallen. England, who was under attack. He thought of everything he'd lost in the Great War, and of the promises Germany had sold him. He remembered the evening Germany had come over to ask him for a final answer. He'd spent the rest of that night sleepless and determined, writing his response a thousand times over - Ja. _Yes_. He'd said yes, and this was the result.

"It's too late for that. I just wonder..." He propped his elbow up on the arm of the sofa, resting his cheek in his palm. "I don't want to fight for this, this world without music, without reason. It isn't right."

Gilbert snorted into his beer. "You really are hopeless. Be careful of what you say."

It wasn't that Roderich trusted Gilbert, but rather that he could care less at the moment. "Why are you here, _Preußen_? What are you fighting for?" He and Prussia used to be kingdoms, empires even. And now, they were...this. A sorry pair in a house they didn't own, combating a war they'd walked right into, bound to a man they had helped raise. Some job they'd done.

Prussia snuffed out his cigarette, roughly setting the tray aside. He wouldn't look over at Austria when he gave his answer. If he had, he might have seen violet eyes widening slightly in surprise, before growing heavy with understanding and sorrow.

"I'm fighting for a lot of things. Family, mostly."

"Prussia... I fear it's too late. Things are never going to be the same." Austria murmured in a factual tone, devoid of pity. A wave of intense weariness swept over him. He closed his eyes, thankful that no wetness was flooding his eyes this time, even though his throat was burning and hoarse. He blamed Prussia's cigarette. "I miss the music, you know. I miss it so much."

Prussia said something else after that, but it was lost and far away. For the first time in days, Austria slept without dreaming.

* * *

Roderich was awoken by a gloved hand on his shoulder. He was still on the sofa, but Gilbert was nowhere in sight. The light from the midday sun was gone, replaced with the looming sense of night. He looked up to find Ludwig standing over him. His blue eyes were steely as ever, his lips set in a tight line._ "Ostmark..."_

Austria held in a flinch. It wasn't enough to be stuck in Germany's house. The man had the audacity to rename him, too.

"Get up and play something for me." Ludwig demanded, though his voice was calm. He stepped aside and peeled off his gloves. Roderich saw dried blood underneath his nails. "Play me some Bach."

_"Jawohl..."_ He muttered dispassionately, standing up and crossing over to the grand piano. It was a fine instrument, though he preferred his one in Vienna better. He hadn't seen his own piano in four years.

The dizziness was still lingering about his head, and for a brief moment, the ivory and ebony keys blurred into a terrifying mass of unfamiliar patterns and flashing white dots. Austria blinked and settled his hands upon the keys, swaying upon the bench.

"Well?" Germany prompted from somewhere behind him.

Like a jester for a king, Austria humored the man with a composition of Bach's, his years of practice allowing him to shut his eyes against the sudden pounding in his head and play by memory.

He didn't realize he had finished until he felt Ludwig's hand cover his.

"That was good. I like it when you play from the German masters."

"I know you do." Roderich heard himself say, staring down at the dirtied hand resting atop his own. Whose blood was it today, he wondered? Where had he been, what had he done? Austria knew he had blood on his hands, as well. It just wasn't visible, which made it impossible to wash away.

"Play me another song, _Ostmark."_ Ludwig requested. He'd pulled up a chair near the piano, like he used to do when he was young and just learning how to appreciate music for what it was, and not who it was from. Back when Austria and Prussia were still fighting to rule the Germanic states, while Germany grew up.

Austria's lips curled into a humorless smile. "Another? Of course." He bowed his head, his tongue coated with honeyed poison. "I hope you enjoy it."

He started out with Beethoveen's Piano Concerto Number 4 in G major, a merry-seeming tune which flowed on the calm surface of the subconscious. As his hands changed positions in rhythmic timing, he found himself weaving rebellion and all his passive aggression into the notes. He snuck in Chopin for ravaged Poland, Liszt for torn Hungary, Debussy for fallen France, Tchaikovsky and Rachmaninoff for Russia - simply to spite Germany more than anything, and deep, emotional Mozart for himself. He played for the world, for freedoms and for rights and for dreams untainted by brainwashed men. He was so caught up in his dedicated musical tirade that he lost track of what piece he was even playing and resorted to stringing chords together in a chaotic, raw melody. He only stopped when Ludwig seized him by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet, shaking him with enough force to cause him to stumble against his hold. Whatever words the blonde was yelling at him were of no concern as the flashing white dots returned to his line of sight, soon dominating it. Austria felt numb, yet strangely satisfied, even as his legs gave out on him and he slumped forward.

And as Gilbert watched, unnoticed from the doorway, he thought he might understand slightly better now what it truly meant to be weak. And perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong.

* * *

The months went by quickly, after that. Austria and Prussia saw less and less of Germany and the rest of the Axis as the war only worsened. Prussia left with them sometimes, leaving Austria alone in the house. Even the piano had disappeared. Ludwig had sold it, claiming that Roderich had tainted it with his stunt. It was of no concern to Austria - it wasn't his piano, after all. Although the complete lack of musical outlets was driving him insane, he busied himself with mundane things and tried to think about certain things whilst simultaneously not thinking about others. Before he knew it, it was the week of Christmas. He went outside and gathered some holly branches, fashioning a plain wreath for the door. He figured it might be something pleasant for Gilbert or even Ludwig to see, when they came back.

Gilbert didn't return until Christmas Eve. He stepped inside wearing a uniform that needed mending and another grin that didn't meet his eyes. Roderich shook his head to hide a smile at the sight of him, battered or not.

"Luddy won't be coming back until after Christmas. I got a letter-" His grin was demoted to a resigned smile. "He's busy, but he says...he says Merry Christmas."

"That was nice of him." He responded, more for Gilbert's benefit than anything. "The fire is going if you'd like to warm up."

"Awesome!" The silver-haired man chortled, running into the parlor and throwing himself on the sofa. "I've been so cold - not that it bothers me or anything, of course. I can handle it!"

"Obviously." If there was a time for the man to be as cocky as ever, Roderich supposed it may as well be now.

"So, Specs, I see you got bored and decorated."

"It was just a small thing." It was suddenly stifling in the room, only partially because of the fire. Roderich felt the heat in his cheeks. "How, ah... How are you?"

Gilbert stretched his body out over the sofa, not caring to take off his boots. He folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the ceiling, a myriad of expressions running across his face. "I'm alright." He said finally, and Roderich could almost believe that he'd convinced himself of it. "What about you, anyway? Pining for my awesomeness?"

"Of the things I pine for, you are not among them." Roderich scoffed as he sat down across from the man. "I am well,_ danke_."

"You look thinner." Gilbert replied shrewdly.

"I'll eat tomorrow."

"What are we eating? Roast and trout and wurst and potato casserole?" He voiced hopefully.

"I'm afraid not..." Despite himself, Austria chuckled. "We have canned meat, canned beans, canned fruit, and crackers - boxed crackers."

"Good enough. It's better than what I've had out there." Gilbert's shoulders bobbed up and down in a small shrug. "I know you're used to all that fancy crap, but at least eat more when this is all over, alright?"

"Of course." Roderich agreed, slightly surprised at the request. "I...I will."

He didn't tell Prussia that he'd braved his way all the distance to the marketplace and back to obtain ingredients for his famous _sachertorte_ chocolate cake. That would be a surprise.

On Christmas Day, they listened to the radio and played cards together. They were both on good behavior when they sat down to their modest, yet privileged for the circumstances, feast. Prussia seemed to nearly have a heart attack when he was presented with real, Austrian cake. Austria himself indulged in a beer and enjoyed the shock on the other man's face. It was rare that he would be the one to cause it.

Prussia surprised him as well, however, when he set something wrapped in newspaper upon his lap. Austria simply stared at the parcel for a few moments before his mind wrapped around what it actually could be - a Christmas gift. Prussia stood there as Austria carefully peeled the crinkled newspaper away and discovered the object hidden inside. It was a rectangular music box with murals painted on each side and the top. They depicted dancing maidens and princes, soldiers, and rats garbed in military clothing. Roderich knew what this was. It was a music box of the Nutcracker, handcrafted from porcelain and painted in excruciating detail. It was beautiful.

"Oh, Gott... Prussia..." He was unable to stop the awe from bleeding into his voice as he held the piece as carefully as possible. "How did you get this?" He whispered, although he could already put together something of an answer. No place in Germany would sell something like this, and he doubted that Prussia had gone shopping elsewhere. This box would have belonged to some Russian soldier, probably one who had a family, perhaps a sister or a daughter. Perhaps they'd sent him with the box for good luck. Or perhaps he'd been trying to send it to them for Christmas. Somewhere along the way, Prussia had intercepted it and thought of him. Prussia, his long-time rival and adversary, had thought to give this to him. On Christmas Day. No matter how he'd obtained it, there was something to be said for that.

"You can play it, you know." Gilbert spoke up, a small smile playing about his lips. "No one's going to try to stop you."

Lifting the lid of the box, Roderich gently turned the tiny crank inside until he felt resistance meet his fingers. He let it go, listening with rapture as, sure enough, Tchaikovsky's "Waltz of the Flowers" began to play. It was an exquisite sound, and the box must have been very skillfully made to play so well. But Roderich didn't care about technicalities in that moment. He was hearing music, real, pure music, for the first time in too long. It was different than what the radio played or what songs he remembered in his dreams. It was...sweet, hopeful, tangible, just what he'd needed at the eleventh hour. It was something he could hold onto. He clutched the box to his chest and bowed his head, lest he start to weep.

The two men said nothing until the music went silent.

_"Frohe Weihnachten, Österreich."_ Prussia uttered at last.

Austria looked up at him with an expression of honest gratitude upon hearing his real name._ "Fröhliche Weihnachten, Preußen."_ He bit back a sob, overcome with emotion. _"Dankeschön. Dankeschön, dankeschön, dankeschön."_

And it didn't matter what their past was, or what their future would be. On that day, they both felt like they'd gotten it right, for once in such a long time.

* * *

Of course, it didn't last. Four more years of war took their toll on everyone. When at last the Axis surrendered, Austria was not surprised. Only their punishments were a subject of debate, and an important one at that. Germany would have years worth of debt, a tarnished reputation, all of the blame, and Allied occupation. Austria himself fared slightly better, although his reputation was also in ruins, and his country was to be divided among the Allies for occupation as well. He was also forced to declare permanent neutrality.

Austria would never have power in the world again. That was most likely for the best, considering all the events leading up to this sentence.

As for Prussia... He was occupied by Russia and Poland. Mostly Russia. The Berlin Wall went up, and it didn't come down for twenty-eight long years. That included twenty-seven Christmases, and for Germany and Austria, none of them were any easier to spend without the crimson-eyed man. Germany had lost his only brother, and Austria had lost...whatever Prussia was to him. They missed him, and the reason for his absence was tearing them both up inside, even if Austria would be loathe to admit it. Instead, he busied himself with music and rebuilding, and watched Germany work day and night to atone for their mistakes.

Sometimes, even the peace and familiarity of his home in Vienna could not soothe him. He had dreams of Prussia, haunting him.

_You had a choice._ Blood-red eyes would stare accusingly, burning past the walls in his soul. He would wake up, covered in a cold sweat, full of guilt and something like yearning.

On those nights, Austria played the saddest ballads.

* * *

On one particular Christmas, Ludwig went to stay with Roderich for a few days. They were in the process of reconciling their friendship after the tension which Anschluss and its aftermath had caused. He found him in the dead of night on Christmas Eve, up uncharacteristically late in the drawing room. The shorter man was sitting in front of a tiny, ornate music box. A waltz Germany vaguely recognized was playing, and Austria was clasping his hands close to his face as if in prayer. Ludwig was startled to see silent tears streaming down his face.

Wordlessly, Ludwig sat next to him and let the music play. He tried to think of something that would have gotten Roderich so upset, but the only person who could do that was...

"I don't hate him, you know."

Ah, yes. His_ bruder_.

The music had stopped, and Austria filled the silence with a tone strangely detached and calm considering the obvious distress he was feeling. "I don't know why, but I don't hate him anymore." He turned to look at Ludwig, staring at him with violet eyes filled with an almost keen desperation for an answer. It was not unlike his exchange with Gilbert in 1941, which seemed such a lifetime ago.

"Do you think he would come back, if he knew that?"

Ludwig, always an awkward man when it came to emotional situations, raised his eyebrows in surprise. An expression akin to pity came over his face. He missed Gilbert too, after all. But he'd had no idea... "You know he doesn't have a choice_, Österreich_." He answered as gently as he could.

"No..." Roderich laughed mirthlessly, swiping at his eyes. "But it's never too late."

He glanced back at the music box. How ironic it was, that it was Tchaikovsky which had comforted him on that Christmas Day with Prussia, and now it was Tchaikovsky's sweet sound which tormented him, knowing that Gilbert was trapped with Russia. Russia, who never let anyone come out the same, if at all.

Ludwig didn't ask where the box came from, and Roderich did not say. They simply wound it up again and sat close together, as the snow outside covered Vienna in a pure blanket of white and the whimsical notes filled in all the holes within their hearts, at least for a minute or two.

"I'm sorry." Germany said suddenly, more sincerely than he had during any formal apology.

Austria shut his eyes and put his hand over Germany's clean one, devoid of accusation. "I am, too. It will be alright, _junge_." Somehow, it would be.

Tomorrow, he'd bake a cake, and eat it, too. Tomorrow, he'd play music - whatever kind he pleased. Tomorrow, he'd keep hoping.

No matter how many tears he shed or what mistakes he'd made, tomorrow, Austria would not be weak.

And when the Wall was finally torn down, he would be there beside Germany. Because whatever Prussia was to him, Austria refused to lose another thing. The eleventh hour would come around again, and when it did, he'd be waiting.

Oh, how he would wait.

* * *

**.x.x.x.**

**Thank you for reading this. I do hope it made some small modicum of sense.**

**Historical references:**

**The Great War (WWI) - 1914-1918**

**Annexation of Austria (Anschluss) - 12 March, 1938 (Note: During its annexation, Austria was renamed Ostmark. While Österreich means 'east kingdom', Ostmark meant 'east borderland' - establishing in a subtly degrading way that Austria was no longer a sovereign nation, but simply a piece of land belonging to Germany.)**

**Germany invades Poland (start of WWII) - 1 September, 1939**

**France surrenders to Germany - 22 June, 1940**

**Music Prohibition in Germany - Throughout the war; 1939-1945 (Any music considered 'degenerate' or 'impure' was encouraged to be prohibited. This included mostly jazz, but also any kind of dance music or music by non-German composers. In 1942, public and private dance events were banned.)**

**Germany invades the Soviet Union (Operation Barbossa) - 22 June, 1941**

**Germany signs an unconditional surrender - 7 May, 1945**

**The Soviet Occupation Zone begins in Germany - 1945**

**East Germany (Prussia) is established within the Soviet Occupation Zone - 7 October, 1949**

**Austria's Declaration of Neutrality - 26 October, 1955**

**Berlin Wall construction starts - 13 August, 1961 (Not to be taken down until 9 November, 1989.)**

**.x.x.x.**


End file.
